


Where Your Loyalties Lie

by SnangerDanger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnangerDanger/pseuds/SnangerDanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loyalties can be tricky things sometimes, and not everything is as it seems. Hermione soon-to-be-Weasley is proprietor of a failing stationery shop, and Severus is just trying to get on with his life after the War. Throw a Malfoy and some political intrigue into the mix, and things shake up fast!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is originally posted on Ashwinder under the name sevs_kitten! I'm continuing it for NaNoWriMo (as a self-identified NaNoRebel, I know). I probably won't reach the 50k this month, but it's at least motivating me to keep chipping away on this fic!

Chapter One

"Hey 'Mione? Come here and look over these figures for me, will you?"

Hermione sighed and peeled her cheek off of her hand. She had been propped against the counter for so long that the skin made an audible unsticking noise.

"What is it, Gin? Please tell me there's some sort of massive crisis. I could use something, anything. I haven't had a customer all morning. I don't expect people to be pouring in like we're Harrods or something, but still..." Hermione rubbed her temples.

"Have you been standing out there that entire time? You poor thing! I know what we should do. Let's close up the shop and take a long lunch, and after that, we can do a little shopping, hmm?"

Hermione dropped her forehead against a shelf and groaned.

"Stop it, you siren, you foul temptress."

"It's not like we're going to miss anything here..."

"This is a stationery shop! People write all the time! I just don't understand. When we opened three months ago, we were making a profit. Now, it's August. School starts up again next month, so where are all the students buying parchments? Even if they share your study habits, they'll still need a few to get by." Hermione grinned at Ginny, who stuck her tongue out.

"Hey! I did get six NEWTS, you know. That's one more than your precious Ronald, at least."

"Don't even go there, Gin." The Weasley female looked suitably contrite, and Hermione sighed. "Now what did you want me to look at earlier?"

"Oh, the figures. Erm, let's go get some lunch at least. It's half one. We can shut the door against the mad rush for an hour, at least. You don't need to be seeing these on an empty stomach."

"That bad?"

Ginny gulped and nodded. She opened her mouth for a moment, and then she snapped it shut again.

"What? What were you going to say?"

"Well... Look, 'Mione, it's not my place, I know, but don't you think that it might be better in the long run to close up now? You gave it your best. You really did. It's just that people can already buy plain old parchment from Flourish and Blotts down the road. There's not much call for your specialty stuff or the muggle stuff you're trying to introduce either. The only person I've seen buying the funny yellow sideways notebooks with the lines on 'em is my dad."

"Those are legal pads! They're very handy for taking notes and... Well... I don't know. I don't want to give up. I love this shop, I really do. I've put so much into it. I've put so much of them into it. If I close up, part of me feels like I'll lose them all over again. It's silly, I know."

"Listen, your parents would be proud to see what you've done with the inheritance they left you. But some things maybe just aren't meant to be. They'd understand."

"I still have enough of the money left to keep going for about six months more, eight if we scrimp. I can't give up yet."

"Aurors don't make that much, especially not ones with a year left at the academy. What's going to happen when you and Ron get married? Don't you want to save some of your money to put toward a home or the babies, when they come?"

"Babies?" Hermione spluttered. "How did we get to babies?"

"Well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much..." Ginny winked, and Hermione chucked a quill at her. "There, I got a smile out of you at least. Just give what I said some thought, okay? I promise I'll drop it for now. Let's go and have a fabulous lunch. There's a little cafe that I'm just dying to try - my treat. And don't fuss. I'll get you back here in time to finish holding the counter up with your elbow for the rest of the afternoon."

* * *

Severus opened the restaurant door, and the aroma of roasting meat immediately tickled his nose. He nodded to himself, feeling his stomach rumble. Lucius may have a list of faults the length of Hogwarts' Great Hall, but the man knew how to pick out some good eats. He scanned the room, but none of the tables or booths had the distinctive silvery-blonde occupant he sought. A Malfoy head would have stood out even in the restaurant's tastefully dim lighting. As if on cue, the maitre d' appeared and seated him in a corner booth.

Severus ordered a bottle of the house wine for the table, a cabernet sauvignon, as per Lucius' recommendation. He was surprised to see that the bottle was not the most expensive one on the menu, but Lucius knew his wines better than he knew his food, which was certainly saying something. When the waiter poured a few sips in the bottom of Severus' glass for his approval, Severus nodded. The Malfoy patriarch had earned Severus' trust again. The wine bloomed with notes of blackcurrant and caramel, and Severus settled back into the plush cushion and nursed his glass contentedly. He scanned his surroundings out of leftover instincts. The dark wood paneling and hunter green tablecloths suited his tastes nicely, and he didn't spot anyone he recognized. He didn't even need to look at the menu. His mouth watered for whatever meat he had smelled upon his entry, and he was confident the server would know just to what he was referring. And perhaps some roasted new potatoes on the side, glistening with olive oil and rosemary leaves... Where was Lucius? Severus was ready to eat!

Severus closed his eyes as he took another sip of his wine as he savored not only the taste. It was a precious privilege to him, to be able to let his guard down in a public place like this. He wasn't completely relaxed —- that he feared he would never be able to accomplish outside of his home. Some lessons took hold too deeply. At the slightest sign of danger, he would still have his wand in his hand faster than most people could blink. But he would have never dared appearing in a restaurant, let alone closing his eyes in one, during the War.

Opening his eyes, Severus let his gaze fix itself on the top of the empty seat in front of him as his mind wandered. It was a few minutes before the heads visible over the back of the seat snapped him back to the present. One was surprisingly bushy, a crown of springy brown curls, and the other on the far side was a coppery red. Severus allowed himself the tiniest of eye-rolls. This was just perfect. Just when he thought he was free of the most famous know-it-all in the land. Hell, he thought he had finally worked his way through all those damned Weasleys for good too.

"Gin, are you sure you can afford a meal here? It's plush!" that all-too-familiar voice said. Severus' eyebrows drew together of their own accord. He was surprised he couldn't see her hand already waving above the tooled mahogany of the bench out of sheer force of nature.

"Haha, I forget sometimes that you don't follow Quidditch. Oliver's team is doing well enough that each match is packed, a full house. Not a spot on the stands doesn't have an arse on it these days. Oliver hasn't let a quaffle through for weeks! His manager just cut the players a big bonus."

"So that explains why you've been so happy lately! Honestly, Ginny, you've been positively glowing. Tell Oliver congratulations from me."

So Ginevra ended up with Oliver Wood... Severus snorted. He had definitely not seen that one coming! Minerva must have been chuffed, that's for sure.

"Well..." Ginny hesitated. "That's not the only thing. I feel bad for sharing this when your shop isn't going so well, but I figured I'd better tell you sooner rather than later. I wanted you to be the first to know. Well, the second, counting Oliver of course!"

Ah yes, Albus did say something about Miss Granger opening up some sort of business in Diagon Alley, although Severus couldn't remember what she sold. Something bookish, that was for sure. At least she was doing something somewhat productive while she wasted the majority of her potential on the Weasley sod. Honestly, Severus was willing to start a betting pool on how fast after they tied the knot that she would end up barefoot and pregnant. So her entrepreneurial efforts weren't going so well... Severus was surprised. With the practical way she planned out her potions, he would have pegged her as a keen mind for business.

"What is it, Gin? You aren't — No!"

"Yes!" The redhead squealed loudly enough that Severus was sure it was illegal. "I'm going to have a baby! It's a girl, according to the Healer at St. Mungo's."

"Congratulations! That's wonderful news. I'm so happy for you!"

Well, Severus was sure as hell not surprised at that. Ginevra got the Weasley brood mare gene, that was for sure. He could only hope that the offspring was a squib. He should have known that there would only be a brief respite before he'd have to see incompetent redheads bobbing over his cauldrons once more.

"Thank you, Aunty 'Mione! I'm sure you'll have her swimming in books before she can even sit up on her own."

"You can count on it!"

"But... I wanted to tell you this as soon as I found out. I'm about two months along. That gives you seven months to find a new assistant for the shop. I'm really sorry..."

"Don't worry, Gin. I knew that you would only be here for a little while. I appreciate you helping me get things started. I'm sure I'll be able to find someone else to fill your place."

"Thanks, 'Mione. So I was thinking of a few names. What do you think of..."

"Oh, thank the gods," Severus muttered, as Lucius arrived.

"Well, Severus, I know I'm incredibly handsome and terribly suave, but normally you don't seem that pleased to see me," Lucius drawled as he slipped behind the opposite side of the table and reached for a wine glass.

"Don't flatter yourself." Severus leaned in and lowered his voice. "You just saved me from being subjected to overhearing the Weasley chit natter on about a baby."

"I am your savior then for sure!" He quirked his eyebrow and jerked his head slightly toward the two women behind him. Severus nodded and smirked.

"Pay up, Lucius!"

"Oh come on, Severus. That year's crop of dunderheads has been out of school for a year and two months. That averages down to a year."

"Don't try to out-Slytherin a Slytherin, Lucius. Pay up. You bet ten galleons that the Weasley girl would be knocked up within the year, and she wasn't."

Lucius pouted, but he dug in the pocket of his robe and counted out the heavy coins. The two men ordered and soon tucked in, deep in conversation enough to drown out the two witches behind them.

After the ravenous face-stuffing phase of the meal had passed, Lucius laid down his fork and primly dabbed his napkin at the already-clean corners of his mouth. Severus quirked an eyebrow, but Lucius settled back into the cushions and sighed contentedly.

"I haven't had pork shoulder spiced that delicately since last year's holiday in Cordoba!"

"Indeed." Severus tried to keep the impatience from dripping from his voice. "A most excellent repast. Now, I believe you had a business proposition for me."

"I did. I'm sure you've heard that Arthur Weasley's of a mind to mount a campaign for Minister of Magic next year." Lucius' lip curled in a snarl. "I, of course, have offered to the nominating committee a more than qualified alternative that will be sending him back to his brood and their glorified chicken coop with his political wings neatly clipped in no time."

"Who did you suggest? Weasley's a buffoon, sure, but after the War, he's a very well-loved buffoon."

Lucius chuckled.

"You always were a funny one, old boy. I meant me, of course. With you as my right-hand man, if you'll take me up on my offer."

"You?" Severus snorted against the rim of his wine glass. "You know it takes more than money to win over the hearts and minds of the unwashed masses, especially when your opponent's a war hero and you are most definitely not. Buying votes is powerful, but hero-worship trumps all. On the subject of all things preposterous, what use do you expect me to be? You know I despise politics, and with the start of term next month, I'll have my hands full trying to keep the dunderheads from incinerating the castle all over again."

"I don't know why you insist on staying on at the school. There are other potions masters in the world, you know, and you're no longer beholden to the old man."

"Hogwarts is my home, Lucius. You know this."

"Alright, alright, spare me the Gryffindorish sentiments. I just can't help but remember, back in the salad days of our youth, when you spoke of research. Your face used to light up at the thought, and with your complexion, that's saying something!"

Severus felt the honeyed tendrils of the patented Malfoy manipulation technique weave their way around him, but he couldn't help but lean in a little bit closer.

"Come on, Lucius, spit it out. What are you getting at?"

"Just think, my old friend. How much would you accomplish at the helm of the Department of Magical Research and Development? A damn sight more than herding children like cats around cauldrons, I'd say. Any decent potionmaker could do that. You were always destined for higher things."

Lucius smiled, letting the idea percolate through Severus' mind. Severus would provide the perfect counter to Weasley's war record. When Severus' history of risking life and limb as a spy for Dumbledore for years and the fact that he saved Saint Potter himself a couple of times during the Final Battle finally reached the public, the floodgates opened. People were enchanted with their newest dark and brooding misunderstood hero. As insufferable as that was, it would be a welcome bolster to Lucius' own less-than-admirable last minute loyalty swap after his much-checkered past.

"Damn you Lucius... I'll think about it, alright?"

"Wonderful, old friend. Wonderful!" Lucius rose, placed a stack of galleons on the table, and clapped Severus on the shoulder. "I see good fortune in the future for us, you and me." With that, he left like a king departing from his throne room.

Severus rolled his eyes and reached for the wine bottle. Leave it to Lucius to sweep in just when he thought he finally had his life settled.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Hermione shifted on her stool, twisting her ring back and forth on her finger. She extended her arm out, fingers flexed up. There. It did look a little better from far away. She thought back to the proposal scene. She had to admit, Ronald had tried to be romantic. He had made reservations at a restaurant far beyond his means and insisted on picking up the entire check, despite Hermione's inheritance trumpeting away as the elephant in the room.

Honestly, Hermione would have far preferred grabbing a nice stew from the Leaky Cauldron or heading to the muggle chip shop on the corner of their street. The food at Saturnalia was top notch, course after course of tiny, elegantly-presented morsels, from an expertly paired charcuterie and confit plate to refreshing gazpacho to lamb so tender it fell apart with the slightest poke of a fork. Oh, and the deserts... The chocolate souffle that tasted like a little puff of angels breath and the softest, most buttery madaleines that any wizard or muggle had ever concocted.

There was only one thing that could sully such a decadent meal, and that was her erstwhile dining companion shoveling food into his mouth like the carefully arranged plates were construction sites and he a bulldozer. Even the expert waiters stopped and stared in disbelief.

Hermione knew he was going to pop the question from the moment he awkwardly stammered where their dinner reservations were. After dessert, Ronald stood, took Hermione's hands, and dropped to his knee, shaking. Hermione would have loved to be able to fondly recall the actual proposal speech he made, but he mumbled so softly she could barely catch one word out of every three. She was touched by the amount of work and money he put into the proposal night, though, and when he brought out the little velvet box, she nodded and kissed him sweetly, the dutifully delightful new fiance. Ron was a sweetheart, and for all his fumbling, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to find a kinder, more innocently good-hearted man anywhere.

The bell at the shop door tinkled, and Hermione nearly toppled off her perch with the shock of it. In walked someone she hadn't seen since graduation.

"Hermione, are you alright there?"

"Oh yes, thanks. My head was off in space somewhere... Slow day." Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "Anyway, it's so good to see you again, Dean! And who is this?"

Dean Thomas grinned and nudged the young girl beside him forward.

"This is my sister, Marigold. She's starting Hogwarts this year, and I knew just where to send her for her first set of parchment." Dean winked. "Mari, this is Hermione Granger."

" _The_ Hermione Granger?" she squealed. "You're my favorite, miss! I hope I'm in Gryffindor just like you!"

Hermione blushed and chuckled, completely taken aback. Nearly two years after the war, the fuss had died down to the point where she barely heard about it anymore. Well, Harry was still hounded quite regularly, but for Ron and Hermione, things had calmed. As relieved as Hermione was that the saccharine press inquiries had stopped, she found this little girl's admiration heartening.

"That's very nice of you to say, but I'm sure you'll do wonderfully wherever you get sorted."

As Mari buried herself in her supply list gatherings, Dean leaned against the end of the counter.

"It's really good to see you again! I've been off traveling around Europe with my footie club, but I promised Mari I'd be here to see her off to school."

"I heard you got picked up by Manchester... Manchester something?"

"United."

"Ah, thanks, sorry. But congratulations! That sounds so exciting."

"You look like you have a nice place set up here yourself. I bet you're swamped with the new crop of Hogwarts sprogs."

"Actually, no. To be honest, things aren't looking so good for me. You're the first customer I've had all day. I'm not even breaking even lately, and I have no idea why! I've researched the market values for everything I sell, competitively priced it all to beat even what Flourish is charging, brought in a bunch of novelty items, and... I just don't know what else to do! Oh Dean, I am sorry. I shouldn't be whinging to you about all this. I've turned our reunion into some dismal crack therapy session."

"It's okay, Hermione." Dean patted her on the shoulder. "I agree that it's damned weird though. Your shop looks great, and the location isn't bad. I think something fishy is going on, if you ask me. If the brilliant Hermione Granger is setting her mind to something, there's no way it could fail on its own."

Hermione blinked rapidly, clearing her throat.

"Thanks very much, Dean."

After she rung up Mari's supplies and wished them both well, she shook her head. Dean had always been friendly enough in school, but they had never been more than acquaintances. She couldn't help but wonder what opportunities for other friendships she might have missed out on by sticking with Harry and Ron all the time. Oh well, no time to dwell on the past when there was plenty to fret about right in front of her, she told herself. She hardly felt worthy of Dean's praise or Mari's looking up to her at the moment, that was for sure.

But what if Dean had been right about some sort of sabotage? She shook her head. She'd seen no damages or evidence of libel, so as tempting as it was to lay the blame for her failure on some external source, she had to resist the temptation. She just had to work harder. That was all there was to it.

* * *

Hermione jumped at the sound of the door shutting and looked up from her book to see a battered and bedraggled Ron plopping himself down in the adjacent armchair.

"Oh Ronald, you look terrible! What happened to you? Let me get you a pain potion or something."

"Thanks babe, but I"m not banged up too badly. Just a rough day at training. If you think I look rough, you should see Harry! He got the worst of it. We had to go against those bloody dummy giants again. I could use a stiff drink and some dinner though."

"Oh! I didn't realize you wanted me to cook tonight. You should have let me know earlier..." Hermione swallowed a nag. "Oh well. Why don't you go have a nice hot bath and I'll rustle something up for when you're done."

"Thanks, 'Mione." Ron kissed her on the cheek and limped off down the hall, stripping as he went. "I can't wait until we're married properly and I can come home to your cooking every night!"

"Wait, what—" Hermione spluttered, but by the time she could react, the bathroom door had already snicked shut. Hermione could only stand and stare at the discarded, muddy robes and clothes that stretched down the hall like a breadcrumb trail, with the piece de resistance, a pair of crumpled and questionable boxer shorts, still swaying from its perch over the door handle.

Every night? He wanted her to cook dinner for him every night? Who did he think she was, the magical secret twin of Delia Smith? Granted, Ron wasn't much of a dab hand in the kitchen himself, but he could at least fry a few sausages or make some pasta without burning anything, and she had imagined he'd pitch in some of the evenings at least. She sighed and forced herself to relax. She knew getting into this engagement that he was more on the traditional side, and he had grown up with the formidable Molly Weasley as his model of housewifery. She didn't mind cooking, really. It would be fine.

She bent and began to scoop up the discarded garments. Cooking was one thing, but she would definitely have to arrange a forced meet and greet between Ronald and the laundry hamper!

* * *

"Oh, for the love of..." Severus slammed his office door and stomped toward his living room fireplace. Sinking to his knees, he threw a handful of floo powder into the grate so hard that a puff of it rose to his face. He sneezed with such force his head rocketed into the now-green flames, and before he could even sniffle, his vision spun until he was looking out of a fireplace into the gloom of some abandoned classroom. He yanked his head out with a snarl. "Every bloody thing I try to do today is biting me in the arse! Just when I decide to kowtow to Lucius bloody Malfoy, and I can't even find anything to write the bloody letter on!"

He flung the dust into the fire once more, a tad more gently this time, and bellowed "Albus Dumbledore!"

"Severus, my boy!" Dumbledore peered over his desk. "How wonderful to see you pop up in my hearth. I just wanted to thank you for your generosity. Those lovely parchments you so kindly let me use were perfect."

"Generosity my foot, Albus. I granted no such request!"

"You are in a fine mood this afternoon. Why, didn't you get my note?"

"Yes. It was very kind of you to leave it on the shelf in the place of every last sheet of parchment I had left! I'm still trying to scrounge up enough idiot-proof potions to finish up the lesson plans for this term, and now I have to pile an extra trip to Hogsmeade on top of everything."

"Don't you remember? The shops down in Hogsmeade don't carry the weight you use any longer."

"Bugger. Now I'll have to go all the way to Flourish and Blott's in London!"

"Oh, I doubt they'll have it in stock either. It's rather out of fashion these days, the heavier parchment. Nowadays people use flimsier stock, closer to that wood pulp business the muggles favor. Perhaps you might take this is a sign that you need to move with the times, dear boy."

Severus snorted.

"So I'm supposed to let my standards slip just because everyone else can't be arsed to buy something decent then? Not likely, old man."

"Well, I wouldn't give up hope yet. I just remembered that I've heard talk of a new stationery shop at the other end of Diagon Alley. I think it's callled... The Golden Quill— I think that was it. I've been meaning to scope it out for myself, but you're quite right about how busy it is around here with everyone scurrying around preparing for September. I've heard they stock quite a range of specialty parchments and the like there, if the advert in the Prophet is anything to believe. If you wouldn't mind, while you're there, could you see if they have any of those purple and gold note cards I like? You know, the ones with the shimmery edges? I'm fresh out of those as well. Safe travels!" With that, Dumbledore gave a jaunty wave.

Severus' head vanished from the fire with a final harumph. Dumbledore twinkled and addressed his phoenix.

"Well, that went well. Or well as could be expecting considering it was Severus... How's that new nest of yours getting on?"

Fawkes trilled softly to placate his master and thank him, but his avian mind was intent on using his beak to shred up the last of the wonderful, creamy, soft new sheets of the stuff his master normally tied to owls. Why his master had chosen to give it to him instead, he didn't know, but he decided to tuck his head under his wing and nap now and ask questions later... Or never.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

Hermione was just nudging a few already straight Muggle moleskines into nearly molecularly perfect alignment when Ginny burst in, grinning.  
  
"How did your checkup go this morning?"  
  
"Everything looked wonderful!  Our little strawberry is ripening nicely."  
  
"Strawberry?"  
  
"That's our nickname for her.  We can't agree on a name just yet.  Oliver wants something dreary and old-fashioned, and I want her to have a fresh, modern name.  He wants to name her Agatha, can you believe it?  If he gets his way we'll have the gloomiest child in Britain!  Oh, but never mind all that.  I'm sure he'll come around eventually.  I'll let him name the next one, at least if it's a boy."  
  
"The next one?  Merlin's sainted aunt, Gin, you're barely even showing with number one!"  
  
"Oh, I'm not going to waste any time.  I want all my children to grow up close together like we did.  And don't give me that look, Hermione Jane Granger!  If you so much as hint that I'm turning into my mother, I'll...  I'll...  I'll knock over every stack in the shop and mix everything together in a great big pile!"  
  
Hermione pretended to swoon behind the counter and mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.  
  
"Good choice.  Anyway, I have something to show you!"  
  
The pitch of Ginny's voice reached a register that Hermione had previously thought only dogs could hear, and she offered a pained smile in response.  Ginny pulled something small and square from her pocket with a flourish and placed it on the counter.  Hermione peered into the little black cube.  
  
"You have to tap it with your wand, silly.  Haven't you ever seen a Wizarding ultrasound before?"  Hermione shook her head.  "Who knew that after all these years, that's what it would take to finally stump the 'Brightest Witch of the Age!'  Don't worry.  You'll have your own soon enough.  Ron is a Weasley, after all!"  
  
Ginny tittered, and Hermione's smile felt held to her face by drawing pins.  
  
"Anyway, Aunty 'Mione, I am proud to introduce you to our very own Strawberry Wood!"  
  
She tapped the little box, and a three-dimensional projection hovered above it.  Hermione cooed and ahhed on cue, but honestly, she found it a bit unsettling.  She would take a Muggle ultrasound any day, one of those indistinct grey smudgy ones, where the doctor has to add little arrows to show which bits are which.  This one was giving her flashbacks of the specimen jars in Professor Snape's office.  It was definitely humanoid, but wrinkly and distorted, squished in by the translucent walls of Ginny's womb at the edges of the projection.  Hermione could have gone an entire lifetime without getting an insider's view of Ginny's reproductive system, thank you very much--she felt like she had been transported to a carnival sideshow tent.  
  
The shop's door's bell jingled.  
  
"A customer!" Hermione yelped with a little too much glee.  "I mean, ahem, I think I just heard a customer."  
  
"Bugger, it's him!"  Ginny banished the floating image and ducked behind the counter, scuttling hunched toward the store room door.  "He and I did      not end on good terms," she hissed before she disappeared.  
  
"Erm, alrighty then..." Hermione muttered.  She pasted a welcoming smile on her face.  She was an adult now, over two years out of school, and an entrepreneur to boot, and she refused to let this man treat her as anything but an equal.  Even so, she took a fortifying breath before she spoke.  
  
"Professor Snape, what can I do for you?"  
  
She resisted the temptation to add that it was good to see him again.  Confidence was one thing, but deliberately baiting the man was quite another.  There was a fine line between Gryffindor courage and plain old stupidity!  
  
"Bloody insufferable old man.  Does he think my office is his personal supply closet?  And of course he'll be the one to bitch at me about not having every lesson for the term all tarted up and ready for his..."  
  
Hermione cleared her throat.  She was floored, to say the least.  The Severus Snape she had known two years ago would have noticed her, mapped out every entry and exit point in the building, scanned for jinxes and traps, cast personal wards, and crept in with a whispered silencing spell on the door's bell before she even glimpsed his shadow preceding him.  
  
This incarnation of her former teacher still wore the same sweeping robes, but as she took the opportunity to study him while he dispassionately flicked through her wares on the front tables, she noticed that he looked different as well.  His face used to be so angular that she could have chipped marble with his cheekbones, but now he looked a little...  Well, softer wasn't really the right word for it, especially with his angry mutterings, but healthier at least.  He looked like he had finally started getting a few square meals into his belly every day.  His hair was different too, still showing the telltale signs of hanging over a steaming cauldron day in and day out, but nothing near as lank and limp as it once was.  Hermione smiled.  Peace had been good to Snape.  
  
"Miss Granger.  Of course this had to be your shop.  Bloody typical!"  
  
He smacked two bundles of thick, silver-edged parchment onto the counter in front of her.  After a moment's thought, he plucked a box of offensively shimmery notecards and deposited it on the countertop with all the love and affection of someone cleaning up after a dog.  
  
"Oh!"  Hermione started, jolted out of her thoughts.  You're an adult now, Hermione.  Act like it.  "Good afternoon, Professor.  Will this be all?"  She gave him a clipped little smile and stared pointedly at his coin purse.  "That will be three galleons even, if you please."  
  
"Hrmph."  
  
Severus handed the money over with a sneer, dropping it into Hermione's hand from a height that suggested the mere possibility of accidental contact repulsed him.  One of the heavy gold coins hit the edge of her hand and bounced off.  It hit the counter with a plonk and rolled off, spinning on its edge on the floor for a second before coming to rest behind Snape's heel.  
  
Hermione almost twitched from the effort it took to suppress the instinct to scurry over, snatch it up, and grovel in her many apologies.  She gritted her teeth.  If he was so sour still that he couldn't even hand her something properly, he could damn well get it off the floor himself.  A quick Accio from him would do the trick.  
  
He looked her in the eye and raised an eyebrow.  She bit her lip, but she remained strong.  
  
"It seems you've dropped a galleon, Sir."  
  
Severus glared before kneeling and reaching down.  
  
"Professor, use your wand!"  
  
But Severus was already too far gone.  He hissed in pain and toppled backwards, landing hard on his tailbone.  Hermione just about sank to the centre of the earth, she was so mortified.  
  
"Professor!"  She dashed over to take his arm and help him up.  "I'm so sorry!  I didn't think that you would--"  
  
"You didn't think, Miss Granger.  That much is obvious.  Now stop flapping about me like a mother hen.  I have a cursed leg.  That doesn't mean I'm an invalid!"  
  
Hermione flinched and withdrew, wringing her hands.  It wasn't like she had forced him into not using magic, after all.  And how was she supposed to know that that parting shot from Bellatrix Lestrange still bothered him?  After the Final Battle, he had disappeared.  She hadn't even seen him in the hospital wing getting treated that night, let alone at the celebrations in the months afterward.  And plus, he had seemed to walk into her shop just fine.  
  
"If this is the way that you go about customer service, it's no wonder that your shop is empty!"  He pulled himself up holding the edge of the counter.  
  
Hot tears filled Hermione's eyes, and she blinked them back with a vengeance.  Leave it to Severus Snape to know just where to stab her where it would hurt the most.  She would put money on it that he had a sixth sense for doing that.  
  
"I'm very sorry that happened.  Please consider using your wand next time.  Is there anything else I can get for you?"  
  
Severus gave a curt "No thank you," and he gathered his purchase and stalked out of the store without a word more.  Hermione groaned and dropped her forehead to the cool stone of the countertop.  
  
"What the hell was that all about?"  Ginny popped her head out.  "Is he gone?"  
  
"Yes, and a lot of help you were!  You left me alone out here."  
  
"Well, I thought seeing me would get him riled up even more.  I, erm, may or may not have blown up a cauldron during the last class before N.E.W.T.s and nearly gassed the entire dungeon with toxic fumes."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ginny rushed off to straighten everything on the shelves and tables that Snape had pushed around.  
  
"Hey Gin, I'm not feeling too great.  Would you mind the shop for me for the rest of the afternoon?  I need to get my head together for tonight.  You know I love your mother to bits, and she has been more than wonderful to me all these years, but tonight's for celebrating your dad's campaign, and..."  
  
"Yeah, I know.  You'll get the 'Why don't you finish playing shopkeeper so you can settle down and be a good wifey!' speech.  What I wouldn't do for your patience!  Now run along and take a hot bath or something.  I'll be fine here."  She flapped her hands and shooed Hermione out.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Severus sipped his fourth scotch and water slowly.  The first three had done their job to numb him well enough, so he could afford to actually enjoy this one.  Plus, he had plenty of entertainment to go with his drink after all.  He pulled a footstool toward him and propped his feet up.  It had only taken until the bottom of the second glass to come to the conclusion that everything that had gone wrong today was the Granger girl's fault--and most certainly not him forgetting himself and absentmindedly performing a motion that used to be routine--and the third one served to take care of the lingering twinges in his thigh muscle and his pride.  
  
"Severus!  I know you're in there!  I know you're in one of your sulks, but I need to have a word with you.  We had an agreement, and breaking one's word this quickly is a feat, even by my standards!"  
  
A muffled explosion sounded, and Severus cracked a small smile.  
  
"Severus, don't make me bash my way in.  You know I'll do it, too!"  
  
Oh, Severus knew alright.  The barrier he had conjured over the fireplace wouldn't stop Lucius for long.  All he wanted to do was to delay the arrogant sod while he finished his liquor.  It wasn't out of spite, oh no, or about taking his frustrations out on someone else.  Severus Snape was above all that.  This was just expensive scotch, that was all, aged in the barrel for three decades.  That was over three quarters of Severus's own lifespan.  You had to do a liquid like that justice.  
  
A shower of magical sparks shot into the centre of the room just as Severus was tipping the last few amber drops past his lips, and Lucius's head popped into view.  A few of his normally impeccable blond tresses were plastered in hanks onto his pale forehead with sweat.  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake, Severus.  Getting sloshed already?  It's five o'clock on a bloody Tuesday, and we have work to do!"  
  
Severus grinned with too many teeth and raised his glass toward the hearth in a mock toast.  
  
"Arg, it's hopeless.  You're hopeless!  I'll be back on Thursday, and you had better be as bone dry and sober as the day you were born, Severus, or our deal is off!"  
  
Lucius yanked his head out of the grate and snarled.  His old friend could be so childish sometimes.  And especially now, to have him stropping about with everything Lucius had to arrange!  Winning an election was tricky business, even for a Malfoy.  He hauled himself to his feet, smoothed his hair with his fingertips, and brushed off his robes.  After a final check in the large gilt-framed mirror to the right of the fireplace, he stalked out of his study and down the plushly carpeted corridor.  He needed a drink of his own, albeit only one glass since he had some class--unlike Severus--and a fine brandy was calling his name from the bar in the salon.  
  
"Oh Margaret, you don't say!  And then what did she do?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want to be accused of being a gossip..."  A roomful of giggles erupted.  "But I have it on good authority that she got quite friendly with the entire Bulgarian national team after that!"  A chorus of indulgent gasps and well-I-nevers followed right on cue.  
  
"I'm so glad you mentioned this, my dear.  You're quite right, of course.  I wouldn't want any of her parchment after that.  I might catch a disease from just writing a letter!"  
  
Lucius rolled his eyes and paused outside the door.  Of course--Narcissa was holding her weekly tea with the pureblooded society ladies.  How could he forget?  He was so busy with the campaign, he forgot to do his usual disappearing act.  In any event, brandy would have to wait.  If he could just sneak away the way he came, he could make it back to his study before...  
  
"Oh, Lucius, darling, be a dear and come say hello."  
  
"Ladies."  Lucius swept a genteel bow as he crossed the doorway's threshold just enough to be technically considered inside the room.  "What are we discussing today?"  
  
"Oh, just some rather... unsavoury choices the, ahem, less than fortunate in our community make.  I mean, we must never judge, but if I were you, I would continue to get my parchments at Flourish and Blott's as we've heard some less than seemly things about the proprietor of the Golden Quill.  I'm sure she is a lovely person, in her own way, but one is known by the company one keeps, after all."  
  
"I see.  Well, I'm grateful that I can always count on you all to safeguard my moral fortitude.  If you will excuse me though, I have some work I need to catch up on.  A campaign doesn't run itself, after all."  Light titters echoed this.  "Good day, everyone."  
  
On the way back to his study, after congratulating himself on his quick escape, Lucius felt the germination of an idea in the far reaches of his brain.  By the time the catch on the intricately-tooled walnut study doors clicked shut, he was sporting a feral grin.  
  
"The company one keeps, indeed," he whispered.  "This might be crazy enough to work!"


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Hermione stomped up the flight of stairs and burst in through the flat's door.

"Don't say a word, Ronald. Don't even think about it. I just want to go and have a few moments' peace without anyone else talking at me!"

"'Mione, babe, let's talk about what happened. You know that underneath all that, well, my mother-ness, she brought up some good points."

Hermione stilled her feet, but she remained with her back turned towards Ron.

"I'm sorry, what?" she murmured in a deceptively calm voice. "Would you care to explain that statement?'

Ron gulped and edged toward the opposite door. Auror training emphasised being close to an exit when dealing with an unpredictable situation, and over nine years of knowing Hermione had taught even him to read the signs.

"Well, you know how traditional wizarding society is. I mean, even with the War and everything, dad's still going to have a lot of people looking down on him because we're not all stuck up about blood and stuff. We can't have anything radical in the family, is all mum's trying to say. It would just give the snobs mud to throw on his campaign. I mean, look. Bill and Fleur are happy together, and she's pregnant again. Even Fred and George have settled down, and if they can do it and be happy, can't anyone? I hear that their wives are both due any day now. And with Ginny's news tonight, well, dad's set up to run a very family-focused campaign here, and that might be what it takes to suck the wind out of the Malfoy sails."

"And a married witch running a business is considered radical enough to besmirch your father's platform?"

"Well..." Ron made a few noncommittal noises, and Hermione glared harder. "Well, yeah, actually. I'm sorry, 'Mione. I know your shop means a lot to you, but in all fairness, it hasn't been doing too well anyway. Ginny told me you've barely had any sales all month. Didn't you take any of her words to heart? I told her to have a chat to you about maybe saving the rest of your money for when the first of our little ones come along."

"So that was your doing, was it?" Hermione turned slowly on her heel to face her fiancé.

"Come on. You know I won't be making much for a while. I went along with this shop thing though because I knew how much you wanted to try your hand at it. But being smart about business also means knowing when to quit, baby. Plus, we have family to think about, both with my dad and with the one we'll be starting in a few months after we tie the knot."

Ron attempted a smile and stepped forward to wrap his arms around Hermione. Hermione didn't move. Ron figured that he already had his foot in the door as far as softening her up went. She was the smartest woman he had ever met, so he knew his voice of reason would percolate through her stubbornness soon enough.

"It'll be okay, you'll see," he crooned. "As soon as I move up a little in the aurory ranks, we'll have more. I want to take care of you, 'Mione. I want to take care of our family. plus, you don't want to let Lucius sodding Malfoy get any footholds, do you? Imagine a world with Malfoy as Minster of Magic!"

"Imagine indeed," Hermione bit out around a clenched jaw. "The funny thing is, Ronald, I think I can. Malfoy is at the very least a known quantity. We can be certain that he's going to be corrupt in favor of purebloods and all that rot. With your dad and the type of misogynistic campaign you're saying he's setting up, who knows. And the more I think about it, the more I'm confident that I could find a way to deal with Malfoy's ignorance--after all, I've been fighting discrimination about being a muggleborn ever since I got my Hogwarts letter nine years ago. What I don't know if I want to fight, however, is a patronising, patrician attitude of a 'family' minister who thinks women need to be 'taken care of,' who thinks that it's unseemly for women to work outside the home and to want more than to just cook meals and pop out babies!"

Hermione shouldered her way out of his embrace, and Ron let his arms fall like limp noodles. His jaw dropped.

"Yes, I figured this would shock you, Ronald. The entire time we've been out of school, and even more since we've been engaged, all you've talked about is how things were going to be once we 'started our family.' You've done all of the talking and none of the listening. Have you ever once stopped to ask me if I even wanted to do all the cooking? Have you ever paused before you chucked your pants on the ground and thought that maybe I wouldn't swoon in a wave of domestic bliss at the sheer privilege of being the one who gets to walk them ten damn steps over to the hamper? And most of all, never once have you asked me if I even want to have kids at all!"

Ron's freckled face looked like a handful of pennies thrown on a white sheet.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione continued, undaunted. "You just popped this ring on my finger without ever bothering to ask what I wanted for my life. Well, do you know what, Ronald? I've finally decided to stop waffling and own my feelings, so I can thank you at least for that. I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want to go through the agony of birth. I don't want to run around chasing toddlers. I don't want to deal with whiny kids and snotty teenagers. I don't even think kids are cute! I want my life to be full of work, travel, research, and yes, family. But children do not a family make. Love makes a family, love and understanding between two people. And frankly, if that's not good enough for you, I'm sorry to say that we're through. I've been biting my tongue for a while, but I can't anymore. I'm sorry, Ronald, I really am."

"Wha--" he spluttered. "But--"

"I'll be over to collect my things and give you my key soon. I can bunk up in the little flat over my shop."

"Wait, Hermione! Don't do this! You'll be happy with a life with me, I promise. You'll see. Just give it a chance, 'Mione. I know you aren't crazy about kids, but it's different when they're yours. How will you know in twenty or thirty years that you won't look back and regret passing up on the life you could have had with me?"

"That's just a risk I'm going to have to take, Ronald. I'm sorry."

"Typical. This is just bloody typical! Just because I don't talk about your boring old books all day long. No wonder you were always such a cold fish anyway! You can't love anything that isn't made of paper and ink, Hermione, just face it. I tried to change that. I tried since we were bloody children to open up your heart. Now I know that it's truly impossible. I guess this is a good thing, huh? I guess--"

Hermione shut the door, but Ron's shouting still penetrating the cheap pressboard.

"I guess this gives me a chance to find a real woman! So thanks a lot, Hermione Granger! Enjoy your life alone!”

Hermione wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the top step and sit very still for an eternity or two until she was all dried out and couldn't feel anything anymore, but she willed herself to put one foot in front of the other. She made it to the small courtyard behind the building and collected herself enough to apparate.

She missed her target slightly and ended up sprawled on the ground two doors down. Tears sprang up, hot and unwelcome. She dashed the back of her hand hard over her eyes, destroying the evidence as fast as it coursed out. Somehow, she made it to her feet and safely past her front door under the cloak of the evening's darkness and thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't splinched herself. The bell jangled when she kicked the door shut, and she whipped out her wand, sending a blasting hex to reduce it to a coppery dust.

Sinking to the middle of the floor beside the small mound of had-been-bell, she wrapped her arms around her knees and keened, a quiet, high-pitched, constant moan, interrupted only rarely by a shuddering inhalation. Sometime during the night, she finally quieted and dropped to a fetal position. A fitful sleep overtook her on the small comfort of the smooth, cold flagstones.

~~~

Lucius scanned the words penned in perfectly flourished cursive one more time to assure himself that the letter was absolutely right. In politics, a little bit more time spent double-checking at the outset could save a lot of egg on one's face later, as he knew all too well. This principle was silver, so to speak, though under the most important golden rule of running for office: the sincere-sounding apology.

Miss Granger,

I understand that you must be surprised to be hearing from me, and I hope this letter finds you well. I must congratulate you on your new business endeavor in Diagon Alley. I have full confidence that the Brightest Witch of Her Age will know no bounds to her success. I would also like to extend my genuine regret for any anxiety I caused you during your school years, and I can assure you now that I am a changed man— changed for the better.

On the subject of change, I would like to request a meeting with you, to not only extend my apology and good wishes in person, but to also discuss a proposition that I feel would be in the best interests of both of us. I hope you don't mind that I have taken the liberty of reserving a table at Saturnalia for this Friday at noon so we can speak over lunch.

Best wishes,

Lucius Augustus Malfoy

Yes, Lucius thought. That would do nicely. He secured it to the outstretched leg of his owl and guided the bird out of the open study window.

“Take this to the Golden Quill, Magnus. I daresay Master Ronald would not take too kindly to this arriving at home!”

He settled in to enjoy the harlequin squash and sage risotto he had whipped up for lunch before Magnus settled on the windowsill once again with a soft whump.

Lucius scraped his finger around the circle-shaped edge of another rolled, tied, and impeccably proof-read scroll as he brought the silver tines of his fork to his lips one last time. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring, and then he rose to attend to the owl once more.

“Well done, Magnus. Take this to Hogwarts and deliver it to Severus Snape in the dungeons. Peck at him until he opens it and actually reads it properly. It would be just like him to toss it on his desk and forget about it if he's still sulking. When you get back, I'll reward you with a proper treat.”

Magnus made a soft almost-purr and butted Lucius' wrist with the smooth upper part of his beak. Lucius let his lips curl into a small smile. He had to keep up the snake theme for the sake of appearances, of course, but he had always had a weak spot for owls ever since his childhood. His first owl had also been his first friend, after all, during his years as an only child rattling around in the large and drafty Malfoy Manor.

He watched Magnus wing his way into the night until the dark sky swallowed up the white feathers. Friday lunch would be an interesting experience indeed... That is if he survived it!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG GIANT DISCLAIMER: I'm continuing this fic as part of National Novel Writing Month, and from chapter five on, I've decided to post the raw NaNo output right now, and then afterwards, when I edit, I'll replace it with edited versions. So if you don't mind pretty darn raw prose, read on. If you'd rather a more polished experience, bear with me. You've been warned! :) :)

Chapter Five

 

“'Mione, I know you're in there! I'm worried about you. You haven't been out of that room in days.”

 

For the fourth day in a row, Hermione heard Ginny's voice from the narrow stairs that led up to the tiny studio flat above her shop. For the fourth day in a row, Hermione ignored it.

 

“I've closed up the shop, and I picked up a curry for you from that Muggle takeaway you love. I'm worried you're not eating. You can't go on like this forever, you know. I can't just handle the shop on my own every day, especially with this morning sickness sapping the life out of me.” Ginny sighed. “I know I'm Ron's sister, but that doesn't mean I'm automatically on his side. If you need to talk, I'm here. Just... Please try to start getting back to being you, okay? You have people that care about you. Don't forget that.”

 

Ginny's feet creaked back down the steps, and Hermione heard the faint (and blessedly jingle-free) clunk of the shop's front door shutting below. She grimaced. On the one hand, she was deeply grateful to the youngest Weasley for shouldering Hermione's daily burdens on top of what was turning out to be an increasingly exhausting pregnancy, and she felt immensely guilty for completely failing as a human being, let alone as a business owner. On the other hand, though, Hermione just couldn't shake the thought that although she was sure Ginny meant well, when push came to shove and her father's campaign was on the line, Hermione strongly suspected that Ginny would put family first.

 

Slouching her way toward the door, she snaked an arm out to feel for the telltale crinkle of the takeaway bag. She drew it to her and sank to settle cross-legged, savouring the warmth that emanated as she undid the tied handles and pulled out the tinfoil boxes. As she unsecured the cardboard lids and stabbed the flimsy plastic fork in, she paused.

 

“What am I doing?” she asked the Crookshanks, who lolled morosely on the rug by her bed. “Since when has the highlight of my day been sitting on the dusty floor eating takeaway tikka masala?” She couldn't remember for love or money the last time she had changed out of the grubby flannel pajamas (printed with multicoloured donuts, and the bane of Ron's bedroom existence) she wore, and the occasional cleaning charms she had been zapping herself with could only do so much. And Ginny had been all too right— the curry and rice Hermione shoved into her mouth at approximately the speed of light was the fist thing besides Pringles, globs of peanut butter, or muggle chocolates Hermione had eaten since the meagre offerings of the kitchenette's fruit bowl ran out near the middle of day two.

 

“Is Ronald really worth all this?”

 

Hermione didn't need an answer to that. It hit her with a sharp and brutal clarity that there was no way that the two of them could have ever worked out, and deep down inside, she had always known this. But the lure of being the fairy tale couple, Mr. and Mrs. War Hero, and giving the entirety of the Wizarding population the satisfaction of the neat and tidy happy ending had been so intense that Hermione had ignored her base instincts. After the turmoil of battle and all the losses, settling in with Ron had been too comfortable and safe to resist. She had carefully culled and cultivated her deep friendly affection for Ron into something it just wasn't. Although she winced at her cliché, as much as she loved Ronald Weasley dearly, she was not, and had never been, _in love_ with him.

 

This insight took the edge off the ache in Hermione's chest just enough that she was able to brace herself against the door frame, hoist herself to her feet, and move her body and her dinner to the tiny table nestled under the garret window. That was the first baby step done then, she thought as she finished her dinner like a civilised human being instead of a dust bunny. Hell, maybe tomorrow she'd really shape up and use a plate and silverware!

 

With the warmth of the food filling her belly, Hermione straightened her shoulders and took stock of her surroundings. Her bed looked like a herd of nargles had nested in it, and she tugged at the sheet and duvet until they sat smoothly. She made a circuit of the room, gathering candy wrappers, crumpled tissues, and all the other unsightly detritus that belonged in the bin. She pulled the cushions off of the small sofa, smacking at them to dislodge the crumbs and Scourgifying any evidence of spills or sat-on bits of chocolate. As she cleaned, she hummed to herself and took deep, cleansing breaths.

 

“Hey Crooks,” sh e called to her snoozing familiar. “I think I'm going to be okay.”

 

As she glanced around, looking for more targets for her therapeutic tidying, something unfamiliar caught her eye under the table. She vaguely remembered opening the window a few days ago just to quiet the incessant scratchings of the biggest owl she had ever seen, and she had snatched the missive and chucked it aside without a thought.

 

She bent to pick it up, bashing her forehead on the table's edge in the process. Her eyes watered with the pain, and she blinked rapidly. The sprawling script on the parchment was hard enough to read as it was.

 

Hermione's jaw dropped open, and she read the letter once more, and a third time for good measure, just to make sure she wasn't seeing things. Her first instinct, of course, was to Incendio the letter, but she couldn't stop the niggling curiosity. Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, need her? She had zero doubt that he would only put this much effort into making his remorse sound truthful if there was something very important that required her assistance. She tossed the idea of actually going around in her head. On the one hand, this was Lucius bloody Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire and Voldemort's right-hand man for most of the terrors of her childhood. On the other hand, he had been fully pardoned by the Wizengamot--thanks to who knows how many greased palms along the way--and he wouldn't want to risk his freedom by causing outright harm to a member of the Golden Trio. No, although Malfoy might be scheming up some dastardly means of subtle entrapment, there was no way he would physically harm her in a crowded, upscale restaurant with plenty of witnesses. If she did go (and this was a big if, she told herself sternly), if she felt threatened or uncomfortable, there was nothing stopping her from walking away and apparating home.

 

But did it have to be _that_ restaurant? Even seeing the name Saturnalia on the parchment made Hermione involuntarily cringe. She forced herself to relax and take a few deep breaths. If this wasn't a test to see if she could move on from Ronald, she didn't know what was. And although she had come to her realization that the breakup was the right course of action, she was still hurting from the harsh words he had lobbed at her in those last few minutes. Hermione knew she was being deeply petty, but the tiny voice deep in her mind, the proverbial devil on her shoulder, whispered to her about just how furious Ron would be if he heard that she was meeting with one of his sworn enemies, and there of all places.

 

Hermione firmly put that voice away. No, she wasn't doing this for any ulterior motives. She had simply received an invitation, and like an adult, she was going to answer it. She reached for a parchment and pen and wrote a curt missive that she would post the next day, when she would return to the world of the living.

 

With the inspiration of a mission, however small, driving her toward the next day, Hermione reckoned it was time for a nice hot bubble bath and a good night's sleep.

 

~~~

 

Severus toyed with the idea of being fashionably late, but in the end, he decided that he had riled Lucius enough the past few weeks. He didn't want to push the man past the breaking point, after all, and he did find himself genuinely tempted by his machinations. Plus, the idea of Saturnalia had him licking his chops already. Gods, Lucius was such a foodie, he thought to himself with a chuckle. He found it surprising that the Malfoy patriarch felt the need to use money and guile at all to get his way--Severus reckoned that if Lucius simply wined and dined the great and powerful enough, he'd have them eating out of his hands.

 

With a cringe, Severus strode to the fireplace and picked up a handful of shimmering Floo powder. That terrible pun spurred him to stop standing around his sitting room navel-gazing.

 

"Saturnalia!"

 

Severus stepped out over the spotless grate. He looked around and pressed his thin lips into a satisfied smile.

 

"Good afternoon, sir. Could I have your name please?"

 

Nobody popped into Saturnalia to grab a quick bite on a whim. You were either on the reservation list, or you were shown to the door with the thinnest of pleasantries and the advice to book next time (with a sneer from the maitre d' that made it clear that he very dearly wished for there not to be a next time).

 

"I'm meeting Lucius Malfoy."

 

"Absolutely, sir. Right this way. He and his companion are through here."

 

The diminutive man in the spotlessly crisp apron led him behind a set of gauzy curtains to a private table, but Severus could only focus on one thing. Companion? His old paranoia from the war flared, and he fought to calm himself. He didn't want it getting out to anyone, let alone any of his colleagues at Hogwarts, that he was scheming with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Severus arranged his face into an aloof sneer.

 

"Severus! I'm so pleased you could make it. And very nearly on time as well--this must be an auspicious day. I believe you remember Miss Granger?"

 

"How could I forget? Although she must be slipping. Usually, at the slightest upward inflection of a question, her hand is flying through the air."

 

For her credit, Severus noticed that Hermione looked equally as shocked at his presence, and she blanched at his cutting words. He squashed the small twinge of guilt that welled up somewhere in his rib cage. She wore Muggle clothing, but not the scruffy blue jeans and untidy t-shirts that he witnessed as typical Hogwarts student weekend attire. The black pencil skirt and crimson tailored blouse fit her perfectly, and she had somehow tamed the mess of her hair into a sleek bun. Since when did Miss Granger have cheekbones? Since when did she look so... mature?

 

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione answered politely, banishing the flicker of panic from her face. "It's nice, although unexpected, to see you again, Professor Snape."

 

Lucius had the grace to look slightly sheepish.

 

"Well, now that we're all settled in... Shall we order some wine?"

 

Lucius had barely lifted his hand from its perch on the table's edge when the sommelier appeared at his elbow. He ordered a bottle of English wine that cost more than Hermione had ever seen in her till on even her best sales day.

 

"Now, I suggest we get down to business. Miss Granger, I have a proposition for you." Lucius paused, savouring the tension.

 

"What would that be, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes narrowed.

 

"Please, call me Lucius." He paused for a moment, allowing for Hermione to offer up the rights to her forename in return. Hermione said nothing. "I would like you and Severus to work on my campaign for Minister of Magic."

 

Hermione exhaled sharply.

 

"I don't mean to be rude, but why in the world would I do that? I appreciate your attempt to make amends, but that doesn't just erase everything that's happened in the past. You were part of a group that tried to kill me, for heaven's sake! Plus, I have a business to run!"

 

"Indeed," Lucius drawled. "I'm sure that keeps you... very busy."

 

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she said nothing.

 

"Lucius, when you asked for my assistance, you never said anything about this!"

 

The wine arrived at the table, and only the presence of the waiter held the group in tense but civil silence. Lucius swirled, examined, and tasted, and he tilted his head just the slightest bit. The waiter poured the wine into the remaining glasses and disappeared.

 

“I must insist that you hear me out.” Lucius leaned in and met Hermione's eyes. “Wouldn't you like to know why you don't have two galleons of profit to rub together?”

 

“For all I know, it's probably your doing, to lure me into helping you!”

 

“I'm wounded, but not surprised at the accusation.”

 

Lucius reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the smallest vial Hermione had ever seen. He levitated it and used his wand to lever out the cork. A single tiny drop of clear liquid shimmered within the minute vessel.

 

“You don't need me to tell you that this is Veritaserum. I don't want to be put into a position where I divulge more than I would like, as I'm sure you understand, but this should be just enough to allow, say, ten seconds of total honesty. Would you say that's correct, Severus?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Lucius plucked the vial from the air with his fingertips and tipped it onto his tongue. Immediately, his eyelids dropped, and the corners of his mouth went slack. In a monotone voice, he slowly and clearly enunciated, “I have no intent to cause harm to you, Miss Granger, and I am not personally behind the lack of business at the Golden Quill.” The last word had scarcely departed from his lips before his eyes snapped open again and he returned to normal.

 

“Satisfied?”

 

“Fine, but why do you want me? I'm sure there are hundreds of witches and wizards more experienced and more politically savvy who would jump at the chance to help you.”

 

"Miss Granger, if I wanted to cherry pick from the grizzled and gray quill-pushers who nudged and elbowed their way up the Ministry ladder, I could do it in a heartbeat. I wouldn't want to brag--"

 

An audible snort came from Severus, and Lucius shot him a pointed glare. Severus replied with an angelic look of false contrition.

 

"As I was saying, as much as I'm loathe to brag, yes, I could cherry-pick from that particular class of wizard. However, that's not what my campaign needs. Miss Granger, you of all people know what I'm up against. Saint Arthur, patriarch of the most beloved family the Wizarding World has known since Mr. and Mrs. Merlin loved each other very much."

 

"How would you know that Miss Granger wouldn't work for you in name only and report your every move to Ronald?" Severus looked particularly smug.

 

"Miss Granger is no longer with the younger Mr. Weasley. My apologies if that sounds harsh."

 

"How did you know?" Hermione asked very slowly, eyes narrowing. "Have you been spying on me?"

 

"Absolutely not. That would be terribly intrusive."

 

Lucius paused, opening and shutting his mouth a few times. Hermione could barely believe it, but he actually looked uncomfortable.

 

"What's going on?"

 

"Perhaps we should turn our discussion to more salient topics."

 

"Seriously, how did you know?"

 

"I take it you haven't been keeping up with the papers..."

 

"What?" Hermione noticed the shadow of a waiter flitting by, and she flagged him down. "Excuse me, but I was wondering if you had a copy of the Prophet on hand."

 

"Of course, madam."

 

In barely a minute, he re-appeared and laid a crisp newspaper in Hermione's hand. She unfurled it slowly.

 

"Oh hell no," she whispered under her breath. "Oh, _hell_ no."

 

"Trouble in paradise?" the headline screamed in an insultingly shimmery typeface. Underneath, a very pleased-looking Ronald Weasley entwined himself around a curvaceous blonde witch in a very tight little black dress. Hermione didn't even need to flip to the society pages the small print directed her towards to know who was snuggling up to her former fiance.

 

"Luna! I can't believe this... We were friends in school! We were in the DA together! We fought together... We nearly _died_ together. Of all the people." She slammed the paper down with such force all three wine glasses wobbled, and Lucius sent a silent thank you to the gods for his choice of the pinot grigio over the merlot.

 

“One would think that these cretins would have something better to write about...” Lucius shook his head. It almost seemed like Lucius Malfoy was exhibiting a genuine emotion on her behalf. Hermione told herself not to be silly.

 

"I am truly sorry, Miss Granger." The low murmur shocked Hermione out of her anger, and her eyes darted toward Snape. "That is the height of disrespect, and no man should behave in that way toward any woman, ever."

 

First, Malfoy, and now Snape? She must have slipped through a wormhole to bizarro-world. That was the only logical explanation.

 

"Th-- Thank you, Professor." Hermione deflated, slumping back against the cushions behind her. "I knew he would move on... I just thought he'd wait at least a bloody week."

 

The waiter appeared then, as if he sensed that the diners in his charge needed a distraction, and the trio placed their lunch orders. Hermione wasn't even conscious of what she requested, simply picking something off of the middle of the menu just to get the obligation over with.

 

"I would like to lay out my terms," Lucius began, and Hermione looked up from the corner of the tablecloth she was worrying between her fingers. "It goes without saying that if we decide to make it public that you are working for my campaign, it adds a certain... sense of legitimacy, if you will, to my operations. Mostly, though, you have consistently demonstrated, year after year, that you are innovative. We need fresh ideas if we're going to go up against the might of the Weasley reputation. We don't need the same old political song and dance.

 

"In return, I will use my position in certain circles to investigate why your business has been blacklisted. I've already heard some whispers about it that I can possibly trace back to the source."

 

Hermione was intrigued despite herself, but her brow furrowed.

 

"Wouldn't it be counter-productive to find the root of my shop's troubles if the news that I'm working with you is just going to drive a huge chunk of my customer base as far away from my doorstep as they can possibly get? I might as well post a sign that the Golden Quill has new bubonic plague parchment, buy one get one free!"

 

"If everything goes well, no one has to know. However, as a contingency, I am willing to pay you a highly competitive salary for your position as my campaign assistant."

 

Lucius summoned a pen and jotted a figure down on the corner of the discarded newspaper, pushing it toward Hermione. She blanched. So many zeroes... Her mind brimmed with visions of expansions and new merchandise, or perhaps a section for books, or even a cafe.

 

"Miss Granger?"

 

She could hire authors to give seminars on writing, or host academics to talk ab out their work, or--

 

"Miss Granger!"

 

Nothing but that angry Professor Snape-ish voice could have snapped her out of this reverie.

 

"What? Oh, sorry. First of all, can you guarantee that my name won't come up in any of this? You're an opportunist, Mr. Malfoy, and like you said, outing me could be a goldmine for you."

 

"I am willing to swear a Wizard's Oath that I will not purposefully out you. Severus can be a witness. We can do it after we finish this discussion, if you like. I merely said that if something were to go wrong, having you as a liaison would not be detrimental to me and would probably be a benefit. I wasn't finished with my offer, by the way. I am also prepared to extend to you a role as consultant to the Department of Magical Creatures... Perhaps under a category such as Demi-Human Rights? Protection of Sentient Magical Beings? My son filled me in about your well-intentioned house elf efforts during your schooling, and perhaps through a channel like this, you could redirect your intentions in a more efficacious manner."

 

Alarm bells went off in Hermione's head. This was far too generous. This was Lucius Malfoy playing Santa Clause and offering her everything she ever dreamed of on a silver platter, all tied up neatly in a bow.

 

"What would you have me do?"

 

"Before I tell you that, I would like you to undergo a Fidelius charm. You too, Severus. I trust you implicitly, but I can't be too careful."

 

Severus had been oddly quiet during these proceedings, sitting with his tapered, potions-stained fingers steepled under his chin and mostly darting his eyes between his two table-mates like a spectator at a tennis match. He could see the logic of Lucius including Miss Granger in his scheming, but damn his eyes anyway. Their encounter at her shop still rankled him. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak, and he figured that the minute he left the store that day, she and the Weasley chit had talked about how poor, feeble, frail Professor Snape was holding up so bravely and soldiering onward. Gods, he'd almost prefer that they'd laugh at him like everyone used to during his school days. The meals arrived, and Severus stabbed at the lamb shank on his plate with particular rancour.

 

Hermione nibbled at the breast of pheasant in front of her, concentrating on making perfectly proportioned bites of all her lunch's component parts while her mind raced. She waffled back and forth, weighing lists of pros and cons.

 

"I'll do it."

 

Hermione looked up, startled, and searched for the phantom voice. Malfoy smiled, and Hermione jolted to the realisation that it was her own utterance. Yes, she would do it. She was tired of being reasonable Hermione. It was time to make a leap. She would not let Lucius Malfoy best her. Hadn't she said the same to Ronald that night? Malfoy was a known quantity. He had sworn that he meant her no harm and wouldn't drag her through the mud. He was treating her like a fellow human being. And after all, why not use his resources to further her goals?

 

"Excellent." Lucius all but preened. "That's enough business for my stomach today. Severus, why don't you mention your thoughts about that new research about stinging nettles to Miss Granger? Merlin knows she'd appreciate what you were saying more than I did!"

 

Severus looked dubious, but he sighed and started speaking anyway. Before knew it, he and Hermione ended up engaged in a heated debate. The nettles article, the only aspect of Severus' seemingly unending potions ramblings Lucius could recall, only served as the starting block.

 

"Professor, isn't it true that it would be so much easier to use Muggle technology to synthetically produce compounds that are rare in nature? Or even to use Muggle chemistry to make artificial flavouring agents in order to make medicinal potions more palatable?"

 

"Flavouring? Who needs to mess about with flavours?"

 

"Well, what about potions meant for children? Do you think a mother would spend money on something that her child would just spit out again?"

 

Lucius chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes people could be so delightfully predictable. He brought his manicured hand up to discretely rub his full belly and began to contemplate his next move.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please keep in mind that this is raw NaNo text!

Chapter Six

 

Hermione looked up from the accounts ledger as she caught the morning sun on her face from the open door.

 

“Good morning, Ginny.”

 

“Morning, 'Mione. Sorry I'm a little late. The little one is determined to keep me from being on time to anything nowadays.”

 

“It's alright. It's not as if there's been a mad rush.” Hermione waved her hand toward the empty shop ruefully.

 

“I'm sure things will pick up soon.” Ginny tried very hard to strike the right note of chipper positivity in her voice.

 

“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “I have a feeling they just might.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“Oh nothing, just thinking out loud. I just restocked the chamomile tea by the kettle in the back, and I brought in a new jar of honey. Hopefully that might help settle your stomach.”

 

“Thanks, 'Mione. You're the best.”

 

Hermione nodded, and the pause in the conversation stretched a few more beats than was entirely comfortable. Ginny started to make her way around the counter to the office, but she stopped for a moment.

 

“Are... Are you holding up okay?” Ginny asked, hesitating and shifting from foot to foot. “I just... I read the papers the other day, and I just want you to know that I don't give a rat's arse if he's my brother. I think Ron's behaving like a total prat, and he's an idiot to be doing this to you.”

 

Ginny tentatively reached out to squeeze Hermione's hand, and Hermione smiled with a little more warmth than she'd been sending the Weasley girl lately.

 

“Thank you, Ginny. I appreciate that. I really do.”

 

The two women puttered around for about three quarters of an hour, chatting idly about trivialities. (“Did you see the new display over at Magical Menagerie? The baby kneezles are so sweet!” “Isn't it strange for autumn to roll by without gearing up to head to Hogwarts? I'm still not used to being out of school.”) Finally, when Ginny mentioned that Oliver was coming home for a few days after a week on the road, Hermione decided to cut her pregnant employee some slack.

 

“Look, I'm sure you have thousands of things to do to get ready for the baby. Why don't you head to lunch early? You can run some errands so that you can have more time to relax with Oliver this evening.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I'm positive. I'll be fine holding up the fort alone for a few hours. I just got my monthly arithmancy journal this morning, and I have half a mind to just be naughty and drag a chair back here and read a bit. I think we've done every single useful thing imaginable around here, to be honest. I might as well use this time for something halfway productive, and so should you.”

 

“That sounds brilliant, 'Mione! You're the best. I'll bring you back a sandwich or something when I get back in. If I know you like I think I know you, you'll get so caught up in that you'll end up forgetting all about lunch.”

 

“Thanks, Gin.”

 

Ginny slipped out with a wave, and Hermione chewed at her bottom lip, feeling the tendrils of guilt start to snake around her. Sending Ginny out hadn't been an entirely selfless gesture. Having the younger girl around brought up sneaky regrets and misgivings that she had so far managed to keep from twisting at her stomach. Agreeing to help Lucius had been much easier when she didn't have his rival's youngest child being so darned _nice_ right in front of her. What would happen to the rest of the Weasley family if their father lost? What if Lucius was planning to double-cross her somehow? She wouldn't put it past him. He may have been the picture of charm to her at the fancy eatery, but she had seen his face twisted with battle-rage not so many years ago. No amount of schmoozing and claims of Imperius and protecting his family to the Wizengamot that Hermione witnessed during the post-War trials or the year of spying for the Light Lucius had undergone with Snape before Voldemort's downfall could tell Hermione's gut that Lucius was one hundred percent one of the “good guys.”

 

No, she couldn't let herself think this way. All of the Weasley children had moved out and were doing well for themselves. They weren't dependent on mum and dad at the Burrow anymore. And it wasn't like she was selling her soul to Malfoy forever— she was merely engaging in a business transaction.

 

Hermione summoned up visions of the oily goblin at Gringotts asking if she was _sure_ she wanted to set up a business account with them with no male co-signer, of the way Ron expected her to just drop everything to wait on him hand and foot when he got home from work, of Mrs. Weasley assuming she'd get rid of the business once she was nicely knocked up, of the way the Daily Prophet reporter implied that it was her fault, that she had somehow pushed poor beleaguered Ron toward the blindingly blonde Luna Lovegood by not being enough of a nurturer, carer, supporter, or whatever she was supposed to be a good girl and do. As kind as Arthur Weasley was, that was the kind of society Hermione would find herself battling against more and more if he and his wife ended up at the Ministry's head office.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew exactly where the power would be if that happened. Behind every strong man, etc. etc. Molly Weasley would get Arthur to “Yes dear” every for-their-own-good bit of legislation through for her. Hermione clenched her hands around the journal until the spine cracked. Even when she was no longer her impending mother-in-law, Mrs. Weasley could still get under her skin. She forced herself to sit down, breathe, and stare equations until the tiny voices whispering how terrible she was petered out.

 

Hermione had barely thumbed past the title page of a promising-looking article on the effect of longitudinal zones on time-sensitive calculations when the shop door's opening snapped her to attention.

 

“Hello, stranger!”

 

A familiar smiling face appeared beyond Hermione's counter, and she grinned in response.

 

“Dean! It's great to see you again. Your sister must be serious about imitating me if she's gone through all that parchment already.”

 

Dean laughed, a rich, caramel chuckle, and Hermione felt an odd but not unpleasant shivery feeling in her belly.

 

“Ha, maybe by Mari's second year. As a matter of fact, I'm back here because I'd like something for myself.”

 

“Sure thing. What can I get for you? You should see the new diaries I've gotten in. They automatically categorize and colour-code all your entries, and you can set the pages to beep an alert the day before, and...” Hermione trailed off and bit her lip. She was rambling like a ninny.

 

“Wow, that sounds seriously handy, especially for organising my training schedule. But actually, I came back because I'd like to ask you if you would be at all interested in having dinner with me. Like I said the other day, it's a pity we weren't closer during school, but I'd really like to get to know you better now, especially since we don't have the war looming over us.”

 

“I, well, I don't know, Dean. I mean, I only split up with Ronald a couple weeks ago, and I don't know if I'm ready for anything serious yet.”

 

“Hermione, listen. I've read the papers.” Hermione flinched. “No, hear me out. I've read the papers, and the only thing that drivel has convinced me of is that Ron Weasley is a monumental prick who wouldn't know a good thing if it bit him in the arse. I'm not asking you to embark on something major right now, especially since you had to put up with all that he put you through. I'm just asking for dinner, and conversation. If it stays at friendship, I'll be grateful that I got to know you better. If it leads to more, I'll be over the moon. But absolutely no pressure.”

 

Dean stood there, open and welcoming amidst the perfectly arranged displays and meticulously categorised merchandise, the coffee spoons with which Hermione had measured out her life in the time since Ron. She felt a shy smile tiptoe onto her face.

 

“I'm free Thursday evening, if that's okay?”

 

“That sounds wonderful. I'll pick you up at six.”

 

~~~

 

Severus paced the length of his sitting room, spun on his heel, and retraced his steps.

 

"I do wish you'd sit down, Severus. You're making me restless."

 

"I do wish," Severus mocked in prim patrician tones, "that you'd conduct these meetings in that gigantic bloody mansion of yours, rather than in my dungeon quarters in Hogwarts. Did you forget that I have a hard enough time keeping the dunderheads in line without word getting out to all the younger siblings and children of those who fought with me in the war that I'm aiding and abetting Lucius Malfoy? Unlike some people, I have the need to keep my job."

 

"I already offered to make your position a paid one, so you could resign from a job you obviously hate and shift to helping me help you to do what you love."

 

"And if you don't win? Where would I be then? I'd be out on my ear. It's only thanks to Albus and his misguided sense of fair play that I'm employed at all. You know that no Potions firm would take me on as a researcher, and I have to publish under a pseudonym in the journals to get my work considered at all. Even with that, a few articles in Potions Monthly every few months wouldn't keep the wolf away from the door."

 

“How would anyone know I'm here? I flooed directly to your fireplace. Sit down and have a drink, man. You're going to kill yourself if you stay this uptight for much longer— that is, if you don't kill me first!”

 

Severus heaved a mighty sigh and plopped down in his squashiest armchair. He summoned the decanter wandlessly, caught it, and sent a glass sailing to his other hand.

 

“I apologize, Lucius. I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with lately. For one thing, my leg has been bothering me ever since I twisted it the wrong way a couple of weeks ago.”

 

Lucius may have been a pretentious piece of work with a list of crimes as long as the tentacles of the Giant Squid, but he was still Severus Snape's oldest friend. Severus relaxed at the rare privilege of being able to share a moment of weakness with another human being.

 

“I'm sorry to hear that, my friend. Surely there are potions...?”

 

“All the pain potions and muscle relaxants dull my wits just enough that some bumbling idiot in one of my classes would probably get away with blowing away half of the castle.”

 

“I see. All the better reason why you should take some time off. Come to the Manor and recuperate. You know you're always welcome.”

 

“I can't do that to Albus, Lucius. I owe him too much to put him in the position of trying to find a replacement Potions professor now that the school year's started.”

 

“You can't stay beholden to the old man forever, you know. At some point, you have to put the past behind you.”

 

“That's where we'll have to agree to disagree, then. Some demons can't just be buried.” Severus snorted ruefully into his tumbler. “Plus, I daresay Narcissa and her hen house would be a lot less quick to welcome me as you are. What was it that you mentioned she said the last time I came for a dinner party? That I was a...”

 

“Gloomy old wet blanket, if I remember correctly, and if you ever tell her I told you that, I'll send a letter to Rita Skeeter offering an exclusive interview about how the dark and brooding spy extraordinaire Severus Snape used to sleep with a stuffed manticore under his covers during his first year where he thought his dorm-mates couldn't see! How is Toothy these days, Severus? Do give him my regards.”

 

“Ha, then I'll owl her and mention how a certain esteemed candidate for the head of the British Wizarding world used to wear his lucky thong underpants with the cartoon snitches for every Slytherin Quidditch match!”

 

“We won the cup that year, did we not? The proof, I'd say, is in that perfectly executed sloth roll a certain debonair emerald-robed keeper used to save that last minute goal from going through, a feat not easily accomplished in that sort of pants, I'll have you know!” Lucius laughed. “Between the two of us, we'd have that parasite of a reporter scribbling so fast her quill would catch fire.”

 

Lucius enjoyed the remnant of his mirth, and his chuckles faded as he stared into the fire. He leaned back into the corner of the charcoal gray sofa and rested his elbow on the armrest, plopping his chin into an upturned hand. He couldn't remember the last time he could allow his shoulders to slump like this. Severus was the one person he knew all the suave charm in the world couldn't really impress, and that freedom and the whisky eased the words out of his mouth.

 

“She is getting unbearable, mate.”

 

“Narcissa?”

 

“The one and only. I thought that once we had extricated ourselves from the Dark Lord, things between us would improve. I had hoped that once Draco was safe for good and we didn't have the threat of Azkaban hanging over us, we could return to how we used to be. I thought I could get my Cissa back. I think she's gone for good, though, Severus. We've been through too much. We've drifted too far apart.”

 

Severus sat in silence. Anyone else would have offered a platitude, or at least a well-meaning but floundering “I'm sorry to hear that.” Not Severus. He cast his mind back to the days when Lucius and Narcissa were first dating. They couldn't keep their hands off each other then, and Severus surmised he'd run out of fingers and toes on all the people in Hogwarts if he tried to count the number of times he walked into the Slytherin common room only to back right out again and suspiciously come down with a massive coughing fit a few steps up the stairwell.

 

The attraction between Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black had burned white hot, and the fact that their respective families and the whole of the Dark Lord's growing following wholeheartedly endorsed it— well, apart from the good many unfortunate souls that had wanted to possess the feisty blonde Black sister for their own. But it was no surprise to Severus that their union was a volatile, unstable one, and when the raw passion fizzled out, their son became the glue that held them together. Now that he had launched himself into a promising life of his own, what was left?

 

After the suitable length of companionable silence had passed, Severus remembered his godfatherly duties.

 

“How is Draco these days?”

 

“He's doing very well for himself. A chip off the old block, if I do say so myself. He's taken to finance like a fish to water, and he owns a good chunk of most of the shops in Hogsmeade nowadays. He seems to have the Midas touch. Every business that he's stepped in to assist ends up flourishing. I'm considering sending him to Miss Granger's establishment, as a matter of fact, as a stopgap to keep her satisfied until I have more information for her.”

 

“Are you crazy, man? They'd tear each other apart!”

 

“There was no love lost between them in school, to be sure, but I'm confident that Draco has matured enough to behave like a gentleman and a businessman should, and I think that Miss Granger's store matters enough to her that she's willing to make some allowances.”

 

“If you say so.” Severus lifted his hands, palm outward, and shrugged. “Then again, this plan springs from the same deranged mind that brought us the clinically insane idea that Miss Granger and I can do anything politically useful together.”

 

Lucius pointedly ignored the jibes.

 

“Yes, about that. I think we should discuss our opening strategy. I need some sort of gesture to inspire a sense of goodwill in potential voters. Weasley's clinching the feel-good vote, and no amount of galleons donated to charities under my name seem to be helping me to catch up. Weasley doesn't have a gods-given clue about how to run an effective, efficient government, but nobody will see that if they're sitting there all warm and fuzzy imagining how nice it would be to join him for a cup of tea and a chat. Once my reputation is repaired, we can start pushing my policy, and people with half a brain might actually pay attention.”

 

“I still don't see what role I might have in all of this. If you pitted the two of us together in a who's-hated-more competition, I'd win, hands down. And I'm a Potions master, not a PR magician.”

 

Lucius rose from his seat and strode toward the fireplace.

 

“Meet with Miss Granger. I have full confidence that the two of you will be able to think of something.”

 

Lucius grasped a handful of powder and bid Severus goodbye. With an emerald flare, he was gone. Severus rolled his eyes, and he reached for his letter-writing materials.

 

The only conceivable nugget of free time he had between the lesson planning and essay grading was Wednesday evening, and he had hoped to carve out just that little chunk of the week for himself. Perhaps the Granger girl would be as brilliant as everyone talked her up to be and he would still be able to claim an hour or two. He snorted. Now _that_ was wishful thinking, if there ever was any. This was a far cry from cut and dry schoolwork. He sincerely doubted Miss Granger was cunning enough, ruthless enough for politics. But he'd humour Lucius, like he always did. Be it on his own blonde head.


End file.
